When Rich Ryon accepted a job in the field of construction engineering recently, he ended a long stint during which everyone knew he was the fastest and most skilled courier in Denver. With his preference for huge gears and low cadence, Richard was an amazingly smooth rider who could produce blazing speed with what appeared to be very little effort. He won pretty much every race he entered, seemingly at will. In the past year he had taken to riding a fixed gear on occasion. His chosen gearing? 53 x 12. Rich complained of spinning this gear out. In short, Rich was faster than spit goin' East. But his riding downtown was about more than just speed. Rich is also an ultra-smooth trials rider with masterful balance. The ultimate Rich Ryon messenger moments were those that combined his easy speed with some jaw-dropping spectacle of skill. Rich made his stripped down flat-bar GT road bike do some improbable things.

Christie has been training for the Bob Cook Memorial Hill Climb (July 21), and has conquered the big mountain and the highest paved road in the world several times in recent weeks. She also went to Maui for a short vacation, rented a bike, and pedaled up Haleakala, the massive volcano that dominates half of the peanut-shaped island. When I asked her which mountain gave her the most trouble, she surprised me a bit.

She looks harmless enough, doesn't she?

The first time I ran into Jaimie Lusk was at the start of one those wacky courier races. Here were all these guys, nervously joking around, making excuses in advance for the embarassment we were about to bring onto ourselves, while Jaimie stood there with a stone face and the proverbial Eye of the Tiger. It was obvious before the race even started that she was going to put everything she had into winning it. As serious as Polonium-210, she appeared to be visualizing her triumph and the terms of victory. It was impressive and, I'll admit, frightening as all Hell. When her speed and determination were made clear on the streets a short while later, most of the racers dropped out in shock, complaining of phantom mechanical issues [1].

The danger of cycling manifests primarily in injuries, not deaths.[1] But counting fatalities is the easiest, most straightforward and tempting task dangling in front of cycling's eager stat-mongers. It is also the type of number-crunching which makes bicycling look as safe as it's going to look--while it may produce a boatload of injuries, however you slice it it's far from a deadly activity. So the annual number of cyclist fatalities is a stat that is mongered most vigorously and repeatedly, often at the expense of truth and common sense.

For quite some time we stat-mongers noted that the annual tally of fallen bicyclists was steadily declining. The decline has been attributed to everything from helmets to traffic calming to a decrease in cycling by kids.[2] The downward trend in fatalities corresponded to an increase in the overall popularity of road cycling, so the rate of fatal-wreck-per-hour-cycled seemed to be falling noticeably. It was good news, even if its importance in the grand scheme was unclear. Lately, however, our eyebrows have been raised by what could be a reversal of the trend, before we could figure the damn thing out. The annual reports of the FARS database (Fatality Analysis Reporting System) have shown fairly serious and disturbing upticks in 'pedal cyclist' deaths since 2003.

Most of my rides start out along the same streets through C'ville as every other ride does. Since I live right in downtown, I'm centrally located to roads leading into the rolling countryside away from this small city.

One of my favorite after-work rides travels south of town along Route 20 toward Scottsville (built on the banks of the James River). I never make it that far, however, because my route leads me east after just ten miles (at Carters Bridge) and travels up Carters Mountain.

Found time for a fine ride this afternoon, the first warmish day of the year around here and filled with loads of sun. Though I try to get in a spin in as often as possible during the winter months, it's never an easy proposition, thanks to lack of sunlight, cold weather, full-time job, and a family to tend to.

So these early rides of the season always wake me up, remind me of one of my true passions, and get me jazzed for the coming year. This year, I've made something of a commitment to join a very good friend of mine on a portion of his journey across the country by bike. His path will begin at Fort Stevens, Oregon, and travel eastward across the states all the way to the Eastern Shore of Virginia and the Atlantic Ocean.

It's February (almost Valentine's Day) and we're expecting snow/ice/rain/cold, possibly with some significant accumulation. None of this bodes well for me and my Eddy Merckx.

I'm not really an indoor trainer kind of guy. I had my days on rollers and wind trainer. Now I'm more of a fair-weather rider. If it's a sunny day above 50 degrees, then I'm okay to hit the road and go for a spin. Sometimes I even stay out for less then three hours at a time.

My epic spin in 2006 began in the great basin of Salt Lake and traveled east over the Wasatch Mountains. I climbed up Emigration Canyon, pedaled over Little Mountain then Big Mountain and down the east side of the Wasatch toward Henefer. Once at Henefer, I turned south and rolled along the Weber River through the towns of Echo, Coalville, Hoytsville, and Wanship. Bearing left down Route 32, I passed Rockport Dam and State Park heading toward Peoa. Peoa would be the last point along the relatively flat stretch of my circuit before turning west again to climb back over the Wasatch. By this point, I've been on the saddle for nearly six hours.